Done

A Tepid Crossing is finished.

I'm going to do a run-through of grammatical and spelling errors, fix a few glaring plot issues, and then ask for people to do some read throughs of the first draft.

It's 69,412 words long, 160 pages at 12 pt times new roman, and it has a beginning, middle, and end.

I gotta say I'm prouder of this than I've been of anything I've ever done. And it's not even finished.

Hopefully I can get ya'll a copy by the time November starts.

Thanks for being patient!

100 words - We were all so happy for you.

We were all so happy for you.

When they took you from our green dew frosted lawn, we smiled and wished you good luck as they took you off into the world.

When you stopped the war, we cheered your name, told our friends how proud we were that you accomplished so much. That you were so much.

When years passed, and you destroyed our enemies, we posted your face on street corners, in our homes.

When you found the traitors, still, we celebrated your brilliance.

And when you took us to the camps, we never stopped praising your name.

100 words - Away From His Light

It was a late night and the air was cold and bitter. There was a man who stood about a full foot higher than most men, wider than most men, tossing and turning a bit of wood over in an open flame with a metal poker.

A footfall behind him and he turned, reaching to his belt to pull out his stolen steel revolver. When he turned he could see her eyes glimmering in the dark.

He stood and walked away from his light, the world dimming.

“I know you’re here for me,” he said.

Sweat beaded on his brow.

100 words - Amicus Tallheart

Amicus adjusted his gloves before stepping out to address the invaders in the tower atrium.

“Good evening,” he said.

Their warrior began to charge, without provocation, her legs pounding across the concrete floor. She was young. She wore chainmail, and carried a sword and shield.

Amicus held up his right hand, and the girl stopped. Amicus hadn’t actually done anything yet; he felt that gestures were more likely to elicit reaction, though. When the soldier became confused, Amicus shifted the world.

The swordswoman watched her iron rust, and her shield rot.

“Let’s discuss this,” Amicus said, grinning beneath his mask.

100 words - The Wrong Kind of Party

The first thing I noticed was that there were no lights on the walls or ceiling. People had long thin strands around their clothing and necks, and these were the sole sources of illumination.

You’ll understand if this seems dark.

Addy led me past a table where three young girls were drinking shot glasses full of a thick red liquid.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“They’re doing shots,” she said. She took me by the hand and tugged, smiling.

Next I saw a skull tattooed man. One of the bright strands was worming its way into a cut on his arm.

Eventide Manor

I'm starting a text based adventure called Eventide Manor, primarily so I can have an easy way to practice writing, but also because I've always wanted to do a text based adventure.

Here's the link: http://eventidemanor.tumblr.com/

I'd very much appreciate you to read and respond. You don't need a tumblr account to leave submissions. A note for the first question: the character can be a guy or a girl, doesn't matter.

Thanks!

200 words ~ The Listener

Everyone is born with voices in their heads, thousands of them wriggling through the mind. There are voices that tell us to do this and the voices that tell us to do that. These are often given the title of our conscience speaking to us, but there are those people who would define these voices as our crazy side speaking to us. No matter the case, these titles are irrelevant for as far anyone is concerned most people subconsciously block these voices before they really know what they are exactly . And these people have no idea the thousands of possibilities they have shut out. And while there are those sort of people there are also those who are quite the opposite. These people are unable to control the voices and end up the people in the asylums or more harshly known as the loony bins. However there are the very few who learn to control it. Able to focus on a single voice out of the thousands at anytime they please. These are people I like to call Listeners, people who learn from the voices. But anyone can learn to listen and once learned, the Listener has unlimited possibilities.

200 words ~ Utmost Importance

Jake was a boy who loved to read. It kept his mind occupied and entertained, which was where he always found his safe place. Within the mind. But Jake was also terribly afraid of almost anything that involved any kind of fear or danger. However, because its ominous and intangible form took shape anywhere. Shadows, color... night. The thing he feared the most, was the dark. It wasn't so much the dark itself as it was the very things he could not see or even possibly know to be there. Jake noticed that his brother and friends were quickly becoming less and less afraid of things. Animals, heights... the dark. He also noticed they all hated reading and perhaps this was the reason. He was tired of waiting for the monster that was never there at night when he slept, so he followed his friends and quit reading. A year later he found himself being less and less careful. Less afraid. Unfortunately his carelessness would cost him. For late that night while he was sleeping peacefully, the unknown in the dark would strike. He should have chosen his imagination over fearlessness... because at least paranoia can keep one prepared for their own death.

200 Words--Dust and the Devil's Mouth

I was left in the cold dim air between existence and nothing.

“Hera?” I called.

But I already knew she was gone forever, and so I crawled across the cosmos until I found a home, a hundred years later. I suppose I should consider myself lucky. It’s a nebula that towers light years across and millennia can pass from one side to the other along its circumference.

We’re all still there, on a planet I formed from the dust and gas.

It was on one such planet that life formed; a trick Hera never taught me, so I had to wait for it to happen on its own.

You call the place I landed Devil’s Mouth, and I suppose it’s a proper name, for I am a devil, and things do tend to burn once they fall into it.

But do not mistake me for a god. Amber flows through my veins, not blood. I am a being of time, not space. I’ll fall back into the past once I grow tired of the present, or perhaps fling myself into the future as I wish.

I looked far ahead once.

But there was less there than here, so I left.

200 Words--The Amber Elevator

The amber dripping from the holes in my hands scared them, I think. They raised their flintlocks and fired in unison, as though commanded by gods.

I tried to dash to the side. It’s hard to do that when you’ve lost most of your blood.

I fell into the elevator with a soft thud beside Hera’s feet. She looked down at me like a cat to a dead dog, and then dragged my feet inside and hit the button for the enth floor. The elevator ascended like an angel.

“I never wanted it to end this way,” she said.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

I could see the redness dripping from her tear ducts and knew that I’d really done it this time.

“I’m so sorry,” I said again.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” she said. “I told you it makes you sound weak.”

All the while I pulled the knife from its sheath within my coat. “I have to do it.”

She reached into her chest and pulled out her heart, and handed it down to me.

I stuck the knife into the gears and held the heart tightly. My fingers slipped once but by then the universe had stopped.

200 Words--A Mystery

When I stepped into the living room it was with the careful grace of someone trying to avoid hidden piles of animal droppings (this is the most accurate metaphor I could come up with because my pets used to not be entirely trained).

It was the dark of night, the darkest I mean, and the only illumination was the soft orange glow from the streetlights through the shutters. They cast uneven lights on the sofa and loveseat, which fluctuated as the vents blew warm air over the drapes.

I saw a shape move in the kitchen doorway across the room. I had the baseball bat in my hands as I advanced, ready to deal with this unwelcome intruder.

“Son?” He asked as I, now in full swing, realized who it was I was about to kill.

I would have asked him what he was doing in my house, why he’d broken the locks on the back door to get in, why he hadn’t called first, where he’d been for the past three years, but instead, he was on the floor, bleeding from his skull which it turns out I fractured in three places.

The police said they don’t believe me.